Volume One: Carefree Journey Beyond the Mortal Realm Chapter Eighty-Five: The Ghost Court

Zhao Yuan's expression was grave, and as soon as he spoke, both Gu Qinghan and Yang Ning turned pale. Gu Qinghan sprang to her feet, exclaiming, “What did you say? The tax silver has already been delivered?”

Zhao Yuan nodded solemnly. “It was sent at the end of September. Moreover, Steward Cheng—no, Steward Qi himself arranged it. To ensure the tax silver’s safety, just like before, he specially went to Jingzhou City and asked the Prefect to assign a dozen soldiers to escort it.”

Yang Ning thought the matter was growing ever more complicated, and he too stood up to ask, “The Marquis’s residence hasn’t received the tax silver. That’s why the Third Lady and I personally came to Jiangling to investigate.”

“That’s impossible,” Zhao Yuan gasped. “Steward Qi was supposed to escort it himself, but something urgent came up, so he sent Little Cui. Little Cui has traveled to the capital before and knows the roads well. When they returned, they reported that the silver had been delivered on time, without incident.” He grew suspicious. “Is this why you and the young master have come back—to investigate the tax silver?”

Gu Qinghan fixed Zhao Yuan with a steady gaze. Seeing only seriousness on his face, she slowly sat down, closed her eyes briefly in thought, and then asked, “Let me ask you: what is the current rate for collecting taxes in the fief?”

“Third Lady, you know that the late Marquis set the rule. The Marquis’s lands are assessed for their grain yield, and then a levy of twenty percent is collected,” Zhao Yuan replied. “And if there’s a bad year—say, drought, flood, or locusts—the tax is reduced. The Marquis was compassionate and generous, wanting the people to live in peace and want for nothing. We have always followed these rules set by the Marquis’s residence.”

Yang Ning interjected, “But as far as we know, the fief’s taxes have been rising for years—not by a small margin, either.” He held up four fingers. “Taxes have reached forty percent annually. Mister Zhao, is this not the truth?”

Zhao Yuan was taken aback, then forced a laugh. “Forgive my bluntness, young master, but you must be joking.”

“I have no time for jokes,” Yang Ning said coolly. “I’m asking you—has this happened or not?”

“Young master, the twenty percent rate was set by the late Marquis. If the Marquis’s residence wanted even thirty percent, I would have to advise against it. Please, you must believe me,” Zhao Yuan said. “For decades the people of the fief have grown used to this benevolence. That’s why there have been few problems with tax collection—it’s always paid on time. If we suddenly raised taxes, the people’s hearts would waver. Lowering taxes brings joy to all, but even the smallest increase sparks resentment. One must never raise taxes lightly.”

Gu Qinghan said, “Accountant Zhao, you misunderstand. It’s not that the Marquis’s residence wants to raise taxes. It’s that you have been raising them on your own.”

Zhao Yuan’s brow furrowed. “You mean, we’ve raised taxes without the Marquis’s orders?” He looked incredulous. “How could that be, Third Lady? Let me ask: if we really did that, wouldn’t it be grounds for execution?”

“As long as you know,” Gu Qinghan replied coldly. “If you dare raise taxes on your own, the Marquis’s residence will not let you off lightly.”

“We’re well aware of that principle. Would we dare make such a blunder?” Zhao Yuan sighed. “Fortunately, the accounts for the past few years are all in the office. If you examine them, Third Lady, you’ll see at once. There’s no need to worry I’ll tamper with anything; you and the young master returned unexpectedly, so I wouldn’t have time to do anything even if I wanted to.” He was just an accountant, but the pride of a scholar still lingered in his demeanor.

Gu Qinghan thought to herself that she must look at the accounts—she managed all the affairs of the Marquis’s residence, and the accounts were paramount. Now that she was back, she would naturally have to go through them carefully.

“Since you’re the accountant, you must know all the landholders who pay taxes each year,” Yang Ning said with a faint smile. “Mister Zhao, do you know Han Yi?”

“Han Yi?” Zhao Yuan thought for a moment, then answered at once, “Young master, Han Yi is the landholder from Lu Wang Village. He’s known to be hot-tempered. All the other villages pay their taxes promptly, but Lu Wang Village is always the last.”

“Oh?” Yang Ning smiled. “So Lu Wang Village is a trouble spot?”

“Not exactly. They always pay what’s owed in the end,” Zhao Yuan said. “I’ve heard Han Yi likes to make friends. Though he’s just a common farmer, he has many acquaintances, so he’s become rather bold. Last year, when he came to pay taxes, he got into an argument with another landholder and nearly beat the man to death.” He turned to Gu Qinghan. “Would you like to go to the accounting office now, Third Lady? There’s still daylight left, and Steward Qi won’t be back for a while.”

Gu Qinghan nodded slightly. “Lead the way.”

Zhao Yuan led the way ahead, with Yang Ning and Gu Qinghan following behind. They arrived at a small courtyard. Inside, wooden shelves lined both walls, filled with all sorts of ledgers. A young assistant accountant was present as well.

Yang Ning, looking at the mountain of accounts, felt his patience wane. After Gu Qinghan had settled down, Zhao Yuan placed a stack of ledgers on the table. Yang Ning realized this was not a task to be finished quickly, so he left the courtyard to wander around. Gu Qinghan knew he wasn’t suited to poring over numbers, so she let him go.

The courtyard was deep and sprawling. Yang Ning wandered for quite a while before realizing this old mansion was larger than he’d thought. Though it was nowhere near as grand as the Marquis’s residence in the capital, in this small town the house was impressive.

It was indeed an old mansion. Though some areas had clearly been repaired, overall it still retained an air of antiquity—the walls showed their age. Gu Qinghan had mentioned before that the mansion was quite old; the late Marquis had lived here as a boy, making the house at least a century old.

No matter how much a house of a hundred years is renovated, there is always a sense of age about it. Furthermore, after the Qi family’s relatives moved to the capital, the vast house was left almost empty, giving it an even colder and lonelier feel.

Following a winding path through the grounds, Yang Ning wandered for some time before noticing, in the distance, a walled-off area different from the rest. The wall was covered in thick, lush vines that nearly swallowed it whole.

Yang Ning found this odd. Though the house was mostly empty, someone still tended to it—the areas he’d passed were clearly well kept, the gardens and trees neatly trimmed. But this wall was neglected; the vines had overrun it, with no one to cut them back.

He couldn’t help but walk closer. The path to the wall was carpeted with thick moss, as if no one had walked this way in ages. On either side, wild grass grew dense. It was late autumn; the grass and trees were withering, lending the scene a bleak and desolate air.

He walked a little further. Withered vines and weeds blocked the way, but through a gap he glimpsed a stone archway ahead. The doors were tightly shut, the rings fastened with a rusty iron lock. The arch had long since lost its paint, looking ancient and forlorn.

Yang Ning was puzzling over why this courtyard was so neglected when a cough sounded behind him. He turned to see Wei Tong standing nearby, watching him.

Yang Ning thought, Does this old fellow walk without making a sound? He pops up like a ghost—doesn’t he worry about scaring people? But he kept his composure, pointed to the vine-covered, locked arch, and asked, “Who used to live here? Why isn’t anyone tending the place? The vines are about to overrun the courtyard. No one can get in.”

Wei Tong did not approach, but beckoned Yang Ning over. “Young master, that’s not a good place. Please, come here.”

Yang Ning frowned at Wei Tong’s odd behavior. “Not a good place? What do you mean?” Seeing that Wei Tong didn’t intend to come closer, and that the way ahead was blocked, he turned back. Only then did he realize this courtyard stood alone, set far apart from the others.

Once he was close enough, Wei Tong lowered his voice. “Young master, dinner is ready. Would you like to eat?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Yang Ning said, glancing back at the courtyard. “You said it’s not a good place. What do you mean?”

A hint of fear flickered in Wei Tong’s eyes. He whispered, “Young master, that’s an unlucky place. Even in the late Marquis’s time, it was always kept locked. The Marquis ordered that no one was to approach, much less enter.”

“What?” Yang Ning was startled. “Why? What makes it unlucky?”

“It’s best not to ask too much, young master,” Wei Tong replied, taking two steps back. “Please, let’s just go eat.” He averted his gaze, refusing even to look at the courtyard.

Yang Ning glanced back. Perhaps it was Wei Tong’s words, but despite the broad daylight, the place now seemed truly eerie. The old mansion was already cold and gloomy, but this strange, locked courtyard made his skin crawl. He composed himself and said sternly, “Why so evasive? I asked you a question—stop beating around the bush and answer me.”

Wei Tong dared not disobey. “Young master, that place… that place is haunted.”

A chill breeze swept by, and the world seemed to fall silent. Yang Ning felt a cold shiver. He frowned. “The wise speak not of monsters or spirits. Haunted? How could a house like this have ghosts? Don’t talk nonsense.”

“It’s true, young master,” Wei Tong insisted, growing agitated. “Because of that ghostly courtyard, two people have already died.”